The silence that followed
(Elliot’s POV)
Chance didn’t wake up.
Not when Elliot pulled him to his feet.
Not when he dragged him through the cold, the weight of his body growing heavier with every unsteady step.
Not even when Elliot’s knees finally buckled at the cabin door, his breath ragged, his arms shaking from exhaustion.
Chance just hung there—silent.
That scared him more than anything.
Not the blood.
Not the wounds.
Not even the fact that they had almost lost him.
Just the silence.
He kicked the door open.
The others were waiting.
---
- "Elliot?"
Builderman’s voice was steady, but his expression faltered when he saw them. The others looked up, their conversations cutting off mid-sentence.
Shedletsky swore under his breath.
C00lkidd, curled up on the couch with a lollipop halfway to his mouth, froze.
007N7 adjusted his glasses. His fingers were twitching.
Two Time exhaled through his nose, eyes dark.
Noob, sitting on the floor with a soda can in hand, went completely still.
Then—
???? - "You have got to be kidding me."
Shedletsky was already moving. He shoved the coffee table aside, making space.
Elliot didn’t stop to explain. He didn’t have the energy. He barely made it to the couch before his body gave up on him, letting Chance collapse onto the cushions.
Chance groaned softly at the impact, but that was it.
No protests. No complaints.
Nothing.
- "How bad?" 007N7’s voice was quiet.
- "Bad enough." Elliot barely recognized his own voice.
He pulled the med kit open with numb fingers, forcing himself to focus. Fix him first. Feel later.
He started with the worst wound—Chance’s side, where John Doe’s claws had nearly gutted him. He peeled the blood-soaked fabric away, ignoring the way his stomach twisted at the damage underneath. He cleaned it. Wrapped it. Moved on to the next one.
His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
---
No one spoke.
Not at first.
They just watched.
Waiting.
Thinking.
Judging.
And then—
- "He went alone."
Builderman’s voice was even, but there was something strained in it.
- "Yeah." Elliot didn’t look up.
? - "Why?"
C00lkidd’s voice was small. Quiet.
Elliot hesitated, pressing gauze against another wound.
- "Because he wanted to die."
It came out harsher than he meant.
The words landed like a slap.
Noob flinched.
C00lkidd just stared at Chance’s unconscious form, gripping his lollipop so tightly it snapped in half.
- "We knew he wasn’t handling it well." 007N7 adjusted his glasses, voice tight. "But this?"
???? - "He didn’t even tell us."
Shedletsky’s fists clenched.
???? - "Because he knew we’d stop him."
Two Time finally spoke, his voice as unreadable as ever. "And he didn’t want to be stopped."
No one could argue with that.
---
Chance was breathing.
Slow. Uneven. Shallow.
But breathing.
That was something, at least.
Elliot exhaled, pressing a hand to his temple. He’d done everything he could. Bandaged every wound. Cleaned every bit of blood. Kept him alive.
But keeping him alive wasn’t the same as keeping him here.
And Elliot had no idea how to do that.
He scrubbed a hand down his face.
- "I don’t know what the hell we’re supposed to do."
No one answered.
Because they didn’t know either.
The silence that followed was louder than any argument.
The hours dragged by, each second stretched thin by the weight of their unspoken thoughts.
The room was heavy with tension, thick with the sting of unsaid things.
The group watched, waiting for some sign that Chance would wake up, some indication that he wasn’t truly lost. But the silence between them was suffocating.
No one knew what to say. What could they say?
Elliot stayed close, his fingers still trembling as he occasionally adjusted the bandages or wiped a stray bead of sweat from Chance’s forehead. He couldn’t take his eyes off him. Couldn’t leave him alone. He couldn’t allow himself to believe the alternative.
The air was thick with anticipation when Chance finally stirred.
At first, it was just a shift of his head. His breath hitched, followed by a low groan that seemed to echo through the room. Elliot’s heart slammed into his chest. His breath caught, his hands frozen above Chance’s side as he watched, waiting for more.
Then, in a soft, broken voice, Chance mumbled again.
- “…Guest… please.…”
Elliot’s stomach twisted painfully. He felt a sharp stab of something he couldn’t place—regret, guilt, maybe jealousy. It wasn’t right. Guest—the name still lingered in the air like a ghost, like a shadow that wouldn’t let them forget.
? - "He’s… saying his name again." C00lkidd’s voice was small, barely above a whisper, though a bit annoyed..
He didn't entirely understand what happened to guest, nor how grief worked..
he was still staring at Chance with wide, glassy eyes, holding the broken lollipop in his hands, Chewing on the small peices*
Elliot bit back a sharp retort. The words were on the tip of his tongue, the frustration, the bitterness. He hated this—hated hearing that name, knowing how much it hurt Chance. And he hated that he felt so helpless.
He couldn’t get mad at C00lkidd for being confused. They all were.
- "He’s still in shock," 007N7 observed, adjusting his glasses, the clinical tone in his voice not doing much to ease the tension in the room. There was a faint hint of something softer there, something that suggested he understood more than he was letting on. But Elliot wasn’t in the mood for any kind of sympathy—especially not from him.
???? - "This is bad." Shedletsky’s voice was tight, his fists clenched at his sides. He wasn’t a man who liked to admit weakness, but the sight of Chance’s lifeless body, the name spilling from his lips like a prayer, was more than even he could take.
No one spoke for a while. No one knew what to say.
They had all been there, at the end of that mission.
They had all seen Guest’s sacrifice, seen how he gave his life to protect Chance.
None of them could forget the sight of it, none of them could forget the look in Chance’s eyes when they pulled him out of the wreckage.
And now… now they had to watch as Chance was falling apart, piece by piece, and they couldn’t even help him.
- "You need to talk to him." Builderman’s voice was quiet, yet firm. He wasn’t looking at Elliot, but his words felt like a weight that hung in the air between them.
Elliot stiffened.
"What the hell are you talking about?" He turned sharply, his gaze snapping to Builderman, his anger flaring. "You think I haven’t been trying? You think I haven’t been here?" His voice cracked, the rawness of the emotion behind it catching him off guard.
Builderman didn’t flinch.
- "He’s not here, Elliot. He’s… stuck somewhere else. And you’re the only one who can bring him back."
Elliot felt his chest tighten. Bringhim back. What did that even mean? Chance was alive, wasn’t he? But was he really there? Was he still with them? Or was he lost in a place they couldn’t reach?
Two Time let out a slow breath, his voice calm and methodical.
- "It’s not about healing his body anymore. It’s about healing his mind. And right now, Chance isn’t even close to being here with us. We’re not just going to bandage him up and expect everything to go back to normal."
Elliot’s heart sank. He knew what Two Time was saying, but hearing it out loud made it feel too real. He wasn’t just trying to save Chance physically—he had to bring him back from the edge. But how? Howthe hell do I do that?
- "What do you want me to say, huh? ‘Get over it, Chance’? He just lost the only person who kept him grounded—what am I supposed to do?" Elliot’s voice broke on the last word.
He didn’t look up, not wanting to see their faces, not wanting to see the pity in their eyes. He didn’t need it. He didn’t want it. But the words came spilling out before he could stop them. He had to say it. He had to get it out.
"How do I fix this? How do I make it right when I’m the one who let him go out there alone? I should have stopped him. I should have been the one who died, not him."
There was a long pause, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was Chance’s faint breathing, the slight rasp of each labored breath.
- "Stop." Builderman’s voice was low, but firm. "Stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault. You can’t be everywhere, Elliot. None of us can."
But Elliot didn’t feel comforted by those words. Not anymore. Not when he knew how close they were to losing Chance too. And when he heard that name again, Guest—it was like a knife twisting in his gut.
Chance’s murmuring grew louder again. “
- …Guest… Please… Guest…”
The name repeated in a steady, desperate rhythm, like a mantra.
Elliot’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. God, he couldn’t takeitanymore.
Finally, he spoke, voice low and raw, heavy with regret.
"I’m sorry, Chance." The words felt like they’d been trapped inside him for too long. "I’m so sorry."
But Chance didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
And the silence that followed was louder than any argument
The silence seemed to stretch endlessly, suffocating them all.
The weight of Chance’s muttering, the endless repetition of Guest’s name, filled the space, and Elliot couldn’t shake the feeling that it was choking him.
The others were still, unsure of what to say, what to do.
Each one of them was a spectator to this tragedy, powerless to stop the grief from consuming the one person they all cared about.
C00lkidd shifted on the couch, his legs curled up beneath him, his eyes glued to Chance’s still form.
His lollipop had long since been discarded, forgotten in his trembling hands.
He wasn’t sure what to make of all of this—he didn’t understand grief the way the others did.
He wasn’t even sure what it meant to be lost like this, not when he’d never experienced it himself.
But the sight of Chance—broken, lost, calling for someone who wasn’t coming back—was enough to make C00lkidd’s throat tighten. His face, usually full of mischievous energy, was now blank, eyes wide as he watched the slow, steady rise and fall of Chance’s chest.
- "This isn’t going to fix itself," 007N7 said quietly, as if reminding them all of the obvious. He’d been standing off to the side, adjusting his glasses for the umpteenth time, but it was clear that the man was in turmoil too.
Despite his cold demeanor, Elliot knew that even 007N7 had his breaking points. They all did.
Elliot let out a shaky breath
"I know," he whispered, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and frustration.
But even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t sure if they were meant for anyone else. He wasn’t sure if they were even meant for himself.
Two Time stepped forward, his eyes colder than usual
- "He’s not just lost, Elliot. He’s… broken. This isn’t about patching him up physically, like you’ve done. This is something deeper. It’s something that can’t be fixed by bandages."
Elliot’s throat constricted. He could feel his anger rising again, but it was different this time. It wasn’t the same frustration. It wasn’t about Two Time’s cold, calculated observations or the way he so often seemed to distance himself from everyone else. It was something else entirely.
"You think I don’t know that?" Elliot snapped, his voice hoarse with emotion. His fingers dug into the edge of the couch where Chance lay, the only thing keeping him grounded was the cold, hard reality of the situation. "You think I don’t know that it’s more than just blood and bones?
That this—" He gestured toward Chance’s unconscious form. "This is about everything else?"
Two Time didn’t flinch. He met Elliot’s glare with a sharp, unyielding gaze.
- "Then do something about it. Now."
Builderman stepped forward then, his heavy footsteps silent against the tension in the room.
- "We can’t fix what’s inside him, Elliot. We can only help him find his way back to us. But you have to be the one to reach him."
Elliot stared at Builderman, his mind spinning. How could he reach Chance? How could he make him see past the grief, past the loss of Guest, when Chance was too lost in the shadow of his memory?
It wasn’t the first time they’d had a conversation like this.
They had all seen the damage, the way Chance had retreated into himself ever since Guest had died.
They all knew how the young man had clung to the memory of him, unable—or unwilling—to let go.
But the reality of the situation was hitting harder now than it ever had.
Elliot clenched his jaw. He was the one Chance had called for. Guest. The name burned in his chest, a bitter reminder of everything he wasn’t. Of everything he could never be.
But Chance had lost him, and now, Chance was slipping away. Elliot wasn’t sure what was left to save.
The murmurs from Chance grew softer now, quieter, the repetition of Guest still lingering in the air like a ghost. But something shifted. The faintest flutter of eyelids.
Chance’s voice, barely audible, cracked again.
- "Guest…" It wasn’t the same sharp desperation. It was quieter now, almost like a plea. A broken echo. It felt like an attempt to hold on, but at the same time, a surrender.
Elliot was closer now, kneeling beside him. His heart was a warzone of emotions, a storm he couldn’t outrun. He leaned in, just close enough to whisper.
"Chance... please."
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, slowly, Chance’s eyes opened—barely, just slivers of blue peeking through the haze.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Chance’s voice faltered, broken but real, when he spoke:
- “Elliot... you…” His words trailed off, weak and unsure.
Elliot held his breath, his chest tight. He’s here. He’s still with us.
“Chance… I’m here.” His hand reached for Chance’s, a tentative touch, but it was enough. Enough to make Chance twitch ever so slightly, as if the connection grounded him in a reality that had been slipping through his fingers.
Chance’s lips parted again, the words soft, fragile.
- "I—I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t want… I just—"
Elliot’s heart cracked as he leaned closer.
“No. You don’t need to apologize.”
For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, and Chance’s gaze locked onto Elliot’s, as if trying to find him through the fog of grief.
Then, softly, Chance mumbled,
- "I… I lost him, Elliot. I lost Guest. I couldn’t—"
"I know," Elliot whispered, squeezing his hand, his voice barely holding itself together. "I know. But you’re not alone. You’re not alone in this."
There was a long pause before Chance’s eyelids fluttered closed again, his breath still shallow but steadier now.
The silence that followed wasn’t as deafening. It wasn’t as suffocating. It wasn’t the same silence.
It was just a quiet, fragile moment between them, and for the first time in hours, it felt like the smallest sliver of hope.